


A Sack O' Gold

by Maidenjedi



Series: Like Show Business [2]
Category: Galaxy Quest (1999)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/pseuds/Maidenjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Dane, just before the third season of the first <i>Galaxy Quest</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sack O' Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [longwhitecoats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/longwhitecoats/gifts).



> Title from "There's No Business Like Show Business." Takes place in the same universe as "The Headaches, the Heartaches, the Backaches, the Flops," written previously.

He hated the bloody wig.

He’d endured some interesting stage makeup in his time. He was Richard III, after all. And Shylock, and Henry IV. There was that memorable time he’d played Puck early in his career, and the wig for that had been badly applied and fell off halfway through the first act. Even in his limited television career he’d worn his share of makeup and wigs (the blond fiasco when he was Willoughby on ITV! Good God, what a nightmare). 

But as Dr. Lazarus, with a rubbery, molded, colored piece of refuse stuck to his head day in and day out, and ghastly grey and purple shades powdered over his face so that he was hardly recognizable – well, let’s just say, it’s a damned good thing Alexander Dane had an excellent agent.

He nursed a scotch and rubbed cotton balls soaked in nail polish remover along the edges of the wig. Well, it wasn’t even a wig, was it, made of some synthetic and having no hair whatsoever beyond that which the glue took from his head. Never mind. He rubbed at the edges and winced as it pulled away, gently. He wore a bald cap underneath but it couldn’t protect him altogether. 

“Want some help with that?”

He looked up in the mirror, and directly behind his left shoulder was Gwen DeMarco’s remarkable cleavage. He wondered how she was glued and pinched and pushed to get them so steady in that get-up.

“No, I’m perfectly capable.” 

She backed up, nodding, and went to the table by the couch to grab the Scotch and pour some for herself. She tipped the bottle in his direction. “More?”

“Certainly.”

She came back and stood once again directly behind him and poured a generous amount into his glass.

“Hell of a day.”

Gwen laughed, the sound dry and sarcastic. “You’d know better than I would. Tawny Madison had just the one scene today.”

“Yes, but Dr. Lazarus at least moved around. Wasn’t Tawny tied to a Reticulan for the better part of your – her – scene?”

“Yes. Naked.”

“Not naked.” She was, after all, still in costume.

“Alright , not naked. But close enough.”

Alexander stopped dabbing at his headpiece – not a wig – and turned around. “Why do you put up with it?”

Gwen didn’t meet his eyes and shrugged, taking a drink. “Why do you? Aren’t you famous across the pond?”

“Ah, famous, but rich, no.”

“And you can get rich on an American science fiction show that slipped in the ratings to number forty-three last week?”

“Comfortable.” He didn’t want to talk about money. They were about to renew for a third season, and contract negotiations were scheduled for the following week. 

“Mmm,” Gwen responded, swallowing the last of her drink. 

They sat in silence for a moment. “Do you have plans tonight, Alex?”

She was the only one he let use that particular diminutive. “Not that I’m aware of. Why? Aren’t you celebrating with…”

“No.” She poured more scotch into her glass, about two fingers, and drank it off. “That’s done with.”

Alexander thought back to an episode filming a month before, featuring half-dressed Gemerian moon princesses, and Jason’s preoccupation with their skirts. “Of course it is.”

Gwen frowned at him. “That predictable?”

He rolled his eyes at her, and she laughed.

“As it happens, I am free. What did you have in mind?”

“Something that doesn’t involve me showing off my cleavage or you wearing that wig.”

“Headpiece.”

“Whatever. Hand me one of those cotton balls.”

They worked at it together and got the damned thing off, and Alexander shooed Gwen out of the room so he could wash his hair and she could go get into real clothes (though he told her, and she swatted him for it, that showing off cleavage was still an option).

Alexander sat in front of his dressing table, buttoning his shirt, then combing his hair, and stared down at an unopened envelope he was thankful Gwen hadn’t seen. It likely contained an offer. Paramount was looking to film _Henry IV_ with the BBC and he’d gone for an audition, the week of the Gemerian moon princesses. He may have found a sack o’ gold, so to speak, here on _Galaxy Quest_ , but he didn’t think he could utter Dr. Lazarus’ signature line many more times. Any more than Gwen could endure being tied to things, half-naked, waiting for Jason Nesmith and his alter ego to rescue her.

Dressed and satisfied that his hair wasn’t utterly destroyed, he picked up the envelope and tore into it.

_Sorry to inform you…._

_Hope to work with you in the future…._

_Went another direction…._

Alexander stared at the words, uncomprehending.

A knock on the door, and Gwen’s voice. “Alex, you ready? Done primping yet?”

_I was thrilled at the opportunity to see your performance, Mr. Dane, and I hope you will take this letter in the spirit it is meant. You are a national treasure, here and abroad, of course, and I hope you will continue delighting audiences as Dr. Lazarus for many years to come. I am sorry to inform you….”_

He clenched the letter in his fist and stood up, back ramrod straight. 

“Done. Let’s get out of here." 

**Author's Note:**

> It's not likely that an actor would get a letter of rejection after an audition, but in this case, I thought of it as a courtesy note that came before the phone call.


End file.
